


Sherlock's heart

by blackcrystaly



Series: Holmes' Heart [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Conan Doyle references, M/M, a little bit of retelling of a Study in pink, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-10
Packaged: 2017-11-25 00:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcrystaly/pseuds/blackcrystaly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had only told Mike Stamford that he needed a flatmate because Mycroft had planted the idea on his mind... and then John H. Watson appeared on his life and Sherlock Holmes began to think that maybe, just maybe, he too had found his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock's heart

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe this could be rated T, but I preferred to be on the safe side.  
> This work is prone to suffer through some changes, but as of now... this is it. A short Johnlock story to close the series for now.  
> The story has been betaed by Leah_Ester she is a miracle worker

Sherlock couldn’t help but be fascinated by the man that was John H. Watson. The blond had managed to thwart his most accomplished mask of being a solitary genius, a sociopath without any regard for another human being. Well, maybe he’d had to sweat a little, since he had to actually run through an empty building to shot a man who was about to kill him on the first night of their living together!

The doctor was as fascinating as a crime scene. So different from anyone else that Sherlock wanted to make the man a subject of study for years to come. John had a mind that didn’t seem to work like other people he had meet before, except maybe Lestrade. But even he hadn’t been able to understand him the way the smaller man seemed to do so effortlessly.

Of course, the older yarder had cared for—and tried to shield him to the best of his ability—from his abusive team mates and dumb criminals who tried to avenge themselves, but Sherlock could tell the man didn’t catch on to his meanings half the time. They couldn't talk with just a meeting of their eyes, didn't share a common enough language or secret codes, like "Vatican cameos" or the others that they came up with after that.

The detective inspector, like most of the people Sherlock had met, couldn't understand that his experiments were much more than a mess he made on regular basis. That it was a way for his mind to focus, to keep himself grounded to the world and not drift away in his mind palace which was so difficult to return from.

John had noticed somehow and even tried to help sometimes... he didn't make a fuss about it at all. Well, he didn't make that much of it. The good doctor had laid down some rules about the use of the fridge, though. And Sherlock had found himself, quite to his amazement, complying with the orders. He couldn't quite put his finger on how that had happened. Not even his parents had been able to make him obey a simple rule like "no fungus molders in the kitchen". Mycroft had once been compelled to actually lock up the room to prevent him from going at an experiment at three in the morning before he had to take a big test in college. Mycroft had always been so obsessed with good marks!

And the blond always did the house chores for the two of them. He kept the flat as tidy as he could and cooked for them both. Even though it would never be as good as his older brother's food it was delicious in its own way.

The former soldier even tried to force him to sleep when it became obvious that he was beginning to endanger his body. It was obvious to Sherlock that John would never understand the concept of "transport".

Only his older brother had been so fiercely protective of him. Watson was as infuriating as Mycroft from time to time, no doubt about it. Constantly nagging at him to be more careful, to not endanger himself, to wait for him or at least for some back up....

John was too righteous, too courteous and sometimes he made Sherlock feel too inadequate. He had never thought that social manners were an important thing until the doctor had pointed out that he was being a bastard and that was not good. Not just ‘a bit not good’, but not good whatsoever. Still, the man encouraged him to do–and be–better.

The consulting detective found himself pushing his mind to the limit in an effort to keep the doctor impressed, to make him open those tempting lips in awe. He found himself expecting the soft praises that Watson gave so freely, so gently.

He became more daring in his adventures because the old soldier was at his side watching his back. He had trusted the yarders to protect him of course, but they were always painfully late. So worried with warrants, and rules and laws... always slowing down for the most stupid things.

John was brave enough to keep his pace, even though his psychosomatic limp sometimes forced him to stay back. But they always found the road to each other. Sherlock knew he would go back home and the blond would be there, ready to tell him how much of an idiot he was for not waiting for him before making some tea so they could talk over the case.

His words didn't sting at all, because they were statements of fact. Sherlock should have waited for the smaller one. Yet the chance of catching the perp was always so strong. It was like a siren song in his blood. Of course, he had gotten that from his dad, who had always been the careless type. The man had always been ready for an adventure. He had been a spy after all, travelling around, being several people at once... And yet, he always came home to them. To Mummy and his children.

Sherlock had seen her eyes shine with love and admiration every time their dad came back to the house safe and sound. Sometimes beaten up, other times completely exhausted... and she would walk up to him, kiss him, tell him how much of a fool he was for still endangering himself, _at his age_ , and than take him upstairs to nurse him back to health.

Just like John did to him, minus the kiss. At least during the first few months of their living together, while he still tried to keep the charade of being heterosexual and not the bisexual, or _Sherlock-sexual_ as he liked to say, that he truly was. That nonsense had stopped soon enough, and they had finally been able to come to terms with the attraction that had been running through their veins from the beginning.

**You were always slow on the uptake. MH**

Bantered his brother the next day, while _his John_ slept at his side.

He didn't even bother with a reply, smiling to himself as he simply turned to look once more at the blond who made him take a chance and give himself over. The man who had played his body like a well tuned instrument, making Sherlock wonder about past experiences John may not have shared just yet. Who made him feel like Alexander the Great when he finally could claim the pliant man under his hands.

Once again, he wondered if this had been the reason why Mummy had kept on telling them they had to find their hearts. Because she knew of the happiness and the feeling of finally being complete that would wash over them, over _him_.

He had lost all hope of finding his own heart as Mycroft had found his, after introducing Lestrade to him, the only person who had shown Sherlock any kind of friendliness. A man who had tried to improve him, to make him _a good man_ , not just an intelligent one, as Lestrade always said.

Still, even if he had tried to fool himself into believing that the detective inspector could be the missing part of his heart, he had eventually known better and did the right thing by sending him to the older Holmes.

Although they had to pretend differently he cared for his sibling. And he had been very worried about his detachment from everyone that wasn’t his own family. The man was becoming a reclusive, going from home to work to the Diogenes club. And sometimes staying all day at his office and not even bothering to go to the other two places! That couldn't be healthy and his mother had agreed with him on that point. Yet none of them could do much about it, save from trying to drag him away from time to time.

The silver haired man had changed all of that nonsense. Just as Watson was changing his own unhealthy habits, he thought while he remembered the unexpected pang of jealousy that had overcome him when the detective inspector and his brother had finally become a couple. He had hated the fact that the man had managed to find their much looked for heart without even trying!

The yarder made the older Holmes happy, had managed to bring him back from his almost isolation and made him better. Since they became an item Mycroft's mind seemed to take on a sharper edge and he had made some major movements that secured his position as the British Government and let Mummy retire completely. Power balance had been shifting since before their father passed away, yet their mother had refuse to step down before her oldest son found his heart no matter how much it angered him. At his badly concealed bother over the issue she assured him that he would truly understand the day he found that all important part of himself.

Now he had done it, and she was free to go home and dedicate her next years to the thing she had always wanted to do: collect poisonous snakes. They had always fascinated her, the fact that they could be so beautiful and deadly. Their mother had spent some years researching the issue and building a huge serpentarium right outside their home for the reptiles to live in. She had created enormous holding cages and conditioned each one for the species she wanted to have. Moreover, she had also installed a small lab where either her, or the youngest child of the household, could go and work on the different venoms. Mummy had always loved her boys.

 

John's phone began to ring, effectively waking him before Sherlock could take it. He could hear that his lover was being asked to come into work early because some idiot hadn't shown up, and the doctor–being the gentle soul he was–had said he would be there shortly, even if he was tired and had been doing rather exhausting, if pleasurable, exercise. The man turned around to find his partner quite mad at the fact that he was going to be left alone, but John gave him a soft kiss and reminded him that they could use the extra income.

Some days, like this one, he was sorely tempted to ask the former soldier to stop wasting his time working there because they didn’t really need the money… Well, _he_ didn’t. Still, he knew that the blond had too much pride to let Sherlock be the sole supporter of their home. And moreover, if he made the offer then he would have to explain why he had said he needed a flatmate to split the rent with when that wasn’t the case. Watson didn't appreciate being lied to and that was a big enough lie to push him away, which would certainly defeat the purpose of it all.

He would have to confess that it had all started because his brother, who even after all these years and the fact that their parents had taken his side on the issue, was still trying to convince him to either go home or at least leave Baker Street to live with him. At the end of another long discussion, the man had said that Sherlock could at least get someone to share the flat, since that way at least bills would be taken care of and he would have actual food in the fridge.

The brunette had looked at his sibling, wondering if maybe the man was done paying for his living expenses. But the way the older Holmes looked at him disabused him of the notion. No, it wasn’t about such a silly thing, but about the ginger haired man needing to know that Sherlock wasn’t drifting away as he had been, before Lestrade.

“ _Fine!_ ” he had said at last, a little upset over the fact that now that Mycroft had found his heart he’d gone back to focusing a little too much on his life. “I’ll go and put an announcement on the internet: _‘Sociopath who solves crimes looks for someone who’d pay the bills while he is chasing murderers. Could be dangerous.’_ ”

“Well, certainly has charm. I would use _‘Consulting detective’_ instead of _‘Sociopath’_ since you have never actually been diagnosed,” Mycroft replied with an easy smile.

He had looked at his brother with both anger and amusement but, in the end the, had won and soon they were sharing a peaceful moment.

“I’ll think about it,” Sherlock said at last, knowing it would be the only way to make his sibling drop the issue. “Now… you promised me a case and your special, _homemade_ dessert!”

He had spent the next few days trying to track down a spy who had gained access to some secret facility and retrieved some documents about a secret agreement between England and another country, which he intended to sell to the highest bidder.

But amazingly enough, he had also being thinking about what the older one had suggested. Somehow he knew it was because he had always trusted Mycroft to know best. Again and again Sherlock had gone to him to submit a little problem that was proving to be somehow too difficult or out of his depth. And the man would give him the answer, or put him on the right track, sometimes even seeing a problem before he did. So, if the ginger haired man thought he needed a flatmate, chances were he actually had to get one.

And that had been what was on his mind when he had uttered he whole thing to the man who was casually passing through his office and who returned, two and a half hours later, with the short, recently discharged, barely holding his act together, marvel he would come to know as Doctor John H. Watson.

 

Mycroft had known, of course. He had the flat bugged after all… and had made his move. One of those big brother, who is still a badass, and tries to protect his younger sibling moves. He had kidnapped the doctor, soon enough for Sherlock not to be able to actually warn the man and proceeded to try and buy him as a way to test the former soldier. Mycroft had failed, miserably, and it made the brunette feel warm inside when he knew of the fact.

Maybe, he would have to look more closely at this gentle warrior, he had decided that same day, hours before the cabbie tried to murder him and he was rescued by the blond.

Later on, he had lied, _actually lied_ to Lestrade, to keep the man from being taken away. He could tell, by the way the silver haired man had looked at him that the older one didn’t buy his pitiful “I’m in shock” excuse, and he was sure they were going to have an off–the–record talk soon enough. But for now, John was safe, he was alive and that was all that mattered.

Even his brother had made himself present that day, and was officially introduced to the smaller doctor. Mycroft had looked at both of them, finally focusing on Sherlock and he was able to read in his clear eyes what the other thought, what he already had begun to acknowledge.

This he was it for him… _John H. Watson was Sherlock Holmes heart_.

That thought startled the brunette and brought him back from his reverie.

Of course the older man was his heart. Just like Dad had been Mummy’s and Lestrade was his brother's... that was what the older one’s text had really meant. He smiled to himself. He had found it by chance. Because the older Holmes had made him look for a flatmate to split a rent he could so easily cover on his own. That meant he had to do something nice for the other man... Maybe return the beryl coronet that he had been asked to retrieve earlier than he intended to.

The consulting detective grabbed his phone and began to type hastily. He wanted to tell Watson all about it, he had cracked the puzzle.

 **Come home at once.** **SH**

The reply came quickly enough.

**Working, Sherlock. JW**

The younger Holmes rolled his eyes.

**Don't be an idiot, John. I need you. SH**

It was close enough to the truth.

**Need me or want me? JW**

When had the man become so perceptive? Now, he was the one asking the stupid questions.

**It's there a difference? Just come home! SH**

He tried to convey it as the order it really was and for once he was sorely tempted to actually call the man and demand he stop being such a pushover and comply.

The answer was taking too long, the consulting detective thought. Seven minutes and counting... not a good sign. Just when he was about to send another message a reply finally arrived.

**Last patient gone. I'll be there shortly. It better be really important, Sherlock. JW**

As ever, the older man tried to accommodate Sherlock the best that he could without changing himself. The caring, loving person he was... with an illegal Browning and nerves of steel when needed. Ready to protect him, to keep him grounded... _to love him_.

With a smile on his face and a strange bright light in his eyes he sent a prompt answer.

**Could be dangerous. SH**

END

 


End file.
